


Love and War

by ainagren



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Falling In Love, True Love, War, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 14:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13215345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainagren/pseuds/ainagren
Summary: A Carolight AU set in a field hospital during World War 1, inspired by a picture board published on Tumblr. Dwight Enys is a field surgeon, and Caroline Penvenen a volunteer nurse.





	1. A Dog

There is a constant drizzle on the canvas fabric of the tent, and the mud is splashing around the military doctor's boots as he hurries to the shelter in the convalescent department. The gas lamps that are hanging in the roof are swaying from the rustle of the weather, spreading both warmth and light, as well as a faint scent of kerosene. Doctor Enys washes his hands carefully in the basin inside the tent opening, which makes him shiver a bit from the cold, before entering into the provisional hospital ward where his patients are recovering from surgery. It is a busy thing being a military surgeon out in the field, and the hopelessness of repairing these men only to see them going out and getting themselves killed, sometimes deforms his otherwise sunny disposition into something more like the constant layer of mud on his boots; grey, shapeless and sticky.

He nods at the young nurse who is coming to greet him, and she hurries up to his side. Her white apron has some minor stains on it of uncertain origin, and a few of her wild, red curls have escaped from under her bonnet. She curtsies rather clumsily, before fetching the clipboard with the list of the patients, and starts following him on his round half a step behind him. 

First, there is a man whose leg has been so badly injured that doctor Enys had to amputate it from above the knee. It was the best thing to do; or, rather, the least bad – still, taking a man’s leg is nothing he does lightly, and it for sure is not a quick road to health. Dwight Enys does not disclose with as much as a look what he is thinking, as he is controlling the bandages, that seem very properly laid. He gives the man a professional smile.

“I see nurse Carne has taken good care of you”, he states.

The poor man nods, but it is clear to Dwight that he bites his jaw very hard against the pain and the agony of having lost a vital limb. Hi face is shiny of sweat and his hair is tousled and full of dirt from the trenches.

“The pain …” the poor soul mumbles. “I’m not sure I’ll manage.”

Dwight puts his hand lightly to the man’s shoulder.

“You will be fine, my friend”, he says. “Although we have very little comfort to offer against the pain, except for the care of our nurses.”

“What will happen to me?” the man gasps.

“As soon as you are strong enough you will be put on a sick transport back home”, the doctor assures him.

Then he straightens his back and turns to move on to the next patient, and as he does so, he whispers to the nurse:

“Make sure to have someone watching him during the night. He might not make it till morning.”

The nurse nods and scribbles something on the list, before smiling warmly towards the patient.

“Please”, the man whispers, “please give me something. Anything!” He is rolling his head on his pillow, and nurse Carne quickly calls another young nurse.

“There now”, the new nurse says and takes the man’s hand. “Tell me about your home…”

Towards the end of the round, doctor Enys stops by the bed of a man whose face he has patched together after a nasty too-close-encounter with a land mine. The patient, a Mr Ross Poldark, has a bandage that is covering half of his head and face. From the other side of his skull, long, dark curls are welling, and his visible eye is giving the doctor a sharp look. Then he glances to his side, and Dwight feels more than sees the poor nurse behind him turning flustered.

“How are you today, Mr Poldark?” he asks.

“Better, thank you”, comes the reply in a sharp tone of voice. “Tell me, doctor, how long before I can get out there again?”

Dwight lifts his eyebrows. There are a few different types of patients in a military hospital, and by now, he has encountered them all. But some are scarcer than others. The most common sort is those who have secretly wished to become injured in order to be sent home with their honour intact. Another type, are those who are so severely injured that they dread going back home and becoming a burden to their loved ones. A few are in such pain that they only wish for the liberation of death. 

And then, there is this sort, the rarest of them all, the brave and heroic and (in Dwight’s opinion) somewhat stupid kind, who want to recover only to throw themselves back into the madness again. Men, who have some distorted notion of glory that includes killing others whilst surviving themselves, or, if that is not possible, killing others and die themselves. The latter is of course the most insane version, but Dwight has seen enough of it to realise that it is a conception to reckon with; without it, there would be no wars. Being a man dedicated to save lives, not taking them, Dwight feels certain that glory and honour lie in other things, but as a doctor he can serve both his own calling and the so called larger purpose of the nation, and that is fine with him. 

Dwight clears his throat and locks his hands behind his back.

“We’ll have you up and about in no time”, he says with just a hint of sarcasm, so light that most patients never pick up on it. 

This one, however, looks at him with his free eye in a way that makes him regret letting his emotions get the better of him. 

“I am sorry”, he says. “I do believe that you will heal very well within a couple of weeks, at least. But to be honest, it makes my work harder when my patients care less for their own lives than I do.”

The one eye is still staring at him with the same fervour.

“And what would you rather have me do?” the patient asks.

Dwight curves his lips.

“Your injury is grave enough to secure you a ticket home with the next convoy, if you want it”, he says. “But if you do not want it, there are others that do. So, I will not nag you about it.”

Mr Poldark finally drops his gaze into his lap, and sighs. 

“You think that war is madness”, he states in a tired voice.

“Anyone who doesn’t must be mad”, Dwight agrees, which renders him a faint chuckle from the pretty nurse behind him.

The giggle catches the interest of the patient, who gives her another long look, and Dwight turns around and looks at her, too, before composing himself. There is nothing unusual with a spark of interest or, indeed, love between patients and nurses – nor between doctors and nurses, for that matter – yet it always takes him by surprise when he encounters it, and it is of course especially inconvenient in times of war, far away on enemy territory, and far away from friends and family and perhaps waiting fiancées.

Mr Poldark inhales deeply.

“You are right, of course”, he says, “and yet, there is something about war that is also putting your life to the very edge, something that makes you feel more alive than in any other situation.”

“Yes, perhaps it is the fact that you are facing the alternative in the most brutal of ways”, Dwight says. 

“Lying like this is for sure not inspiring”, the patient says. “I cannot bare to be idle, and I have little, if anything at all, to go back to.”

“I’m sure life is always preferable to the opposite”, Dwight says. “Even if you have nothing, as you say. Which, by the way, I find very hard to believe. A man like you must have …”

“Please”, Ross interrupts him in a stern tone of voice, “do not tell me that I have a lot to live for. You know nothing of my situation!”

Dwight swallows and takes half a step backwards. Why he even got into this discussion with one of his patients is beyond him; he usually never does. Something in this man provoked him, and yet he is right; Dwight has of course no idea what circumstances this Mr Poldark is coming from, or would be returning to.

“Please excuse me”, he says. “You are perfectly right, and you are also in your full right to use your own life as it pleases you. I beg your pardon, but I have other patients waiting. Nurse Carne, will you please see to it that Mr Poldark’s bandages will be changed before the night.”

He is about to turn to the patient in the bed next to Mr Poldark’s, as another young nurse is rushing in through the tent opening, making the canvas rustle.

“Dr Enys”, she is calling. “Will you come presently, please? There is an emergency!”

Dr Enys has never seen this particular nurse before – nurses come and go with the transports, and very few stay longer than a couple of months – and his first impression is that she is very young, and very tall, and excessively pretty. Emergencies are frequent in this business, and he quickly nods to nurse Carne before he follows the new nurse out again.

She is holding her skirt up as she hurries one step ahead of him over the muddy ground, towards the nurses’ quarters. He notices it with some astonishment, but of course it happens that nurses, too, catch ill, and it is important to react without delay, as that might lead to epidemics and unnecessary losses of lives.

The nurse is leading him into the nurses’ tent, and he only hesitates for half a second, thinking that it might be improper of him to be in here. But the nurse doesn’t seem to care about such conventions, so he follows her down the line of narrow iron bedsteads until she stops and sits down on one of them. 

Dwight narrows his eyes to be able to see the patient in the dim light, expecting to find a sick young woman, and as he sees none, he feels utterly confused. But the nurse in front of him turns her pale face towards him, and gives him a look full of worry.

“My darling little Horace has had these awful fits all afternoon”, she says.

Dwight leans closer to the bed, only to find an ugly little dog lying on the pillow, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, wheezing heavily. 

Dwight straightens his back again, his brows furrowed. 

“It’s a dog”, he says, hardly believing the scene in front of him.

The young nurse snorts.

“Yes, it is. Can you help him?”

Dwight feels his astonishment mixing up with a wave of anger, and he folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat.

“You have collected the wrong man”, he says sharply. “I am a doctor, not a farrier. Besides, what you need here is rather a butcher.”

The young woman’s face turns red, and Dwight turns to leave. But he can’t resist the urge to berate her for her behaviour.

“I am a surgeon, not a pet’s doctor”, he says, “and if it has escaped you, we are in the middle of a war. Why have you even come here? And how on Earth did you manage to bring a pet? Anyway, you must never bother me like this again, nurse … what is your name?”

“Caroline Penvenen”, she says quietly.

“Nurse Penvenen”, he finishes. 

As he turns around, she reaches her hand out and grabs his.

“Wait”, she says. “Have you never had a dog of your own?”

He raises his eyebrows, hardly able to grasp the fact that this woman is for real, and that she is actually asking him to cure a dog when there are men dying only a few thin canvas walls away. And that she is not giving up, too, even though he has told her off! Yet, the light touch of her slender fingers sends an awkward emotion through his veins, and he is so amazed that he forgets himself.

“Yes, I have.”

She seizes the opportunity immediately, clasping his hand a little harder as she says:

“And would you let him die on a point of formality?”

He stops for a second, unable to find a suitable answer. The scene is so fathomless that he almost wants to laugh out loud. It is obvious that this young woman is upper-class, the kind that believes that money can buy them the right to do as they please and not to adhere to the rules that apply to commoners. It annoys him, and it he wants to chastise her for it. Still, he sees in her eyes that her anxiousness is real, and it touches him. This woman has chosen to leave safety and comfort behind to come and do her duty to her countrymen, a sacrifice almost as brave as that of the soldiers, and she is cunning enough to smuggle a pug with her. Both these things are enough to spur his interest, and though he has left his patients in the middle of a round, something in her is intriguing him.

“Please, Dr Enys”, Caroline says, “it will take no time, at least not if you decide to just do it instead of standing here staring at me.”

She smiles, and he is baffled again, feeling his cheeks turning hot. With some effort, he tears his gaze from her face and towards the horrendous little creature on her bed. It is obvious that the little fellow has been treated too many goodies and too little exercise. Dwight gropes for the dog’s pulse, and asks for his age. Then he takes a step back.

“I will write you a recipe for him that will help him recover in no time”, he says. “Ask nurse Carne to help you mix it if you do not know how to do it yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a round to finish.”

“Thank you”, she says and flashes him a wide smile full of gratitude, batting her long eyelashes at him.

Dwight steps out into the pouring rain and hurries back towards the convalescent tent. He can feel a silly smile linger in the corners of his mouth, and he rebukes himself for it. There is nothing in this situation to smile about, really. This nurse, miss Penvenen, will have to prove her value as a nurse to him, and so far, all she has shown is her ability to disturb him. That will not do.

“A dog”, he mutters to himself and slowly shakes his head, before washing his hands in the basin again.


	2. A Perilous Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline suggests to go on a dangerous mission.

The night is black as a pit hole, and just as cold. Dwight Enys is lying awake in his uncomfortable military bed in his tent, unable to sleep. The bomb planes are roaring across the sky, keeping him alert and worried. The bangs of the explosions seem to be closer this time than last night, and he is wondering if he ought to try and move his patients and nurses to take shelter. The field hospital is not easy to spot from a plane, he hopes, and they have been strict with the blackout. But they are close to the front, and there is intense battle going on not far from their position. A heavy explosion makes him jump in his sheets, and he feels the ground moving. There must have been a plane going down somewhere nearby.

Suddenly he sees a light moving around the entrance of his tent, and he half sits up, resting on his elbow, and whispers loudly:

“Who’s there?”

The canvas is folded aside, and a nurse holding a paraffin lamp is entering.

“Doctor Enys?” comes her voice.

He sits up straight.

“Yes, what is it? Is it someone of the patients?”

The nurse takes a full step inside and remains standing. Now he sees that it is the new volunteer nurse from yesterday, miss Penvenen, and he at once feels both annoyed and embarrassed in a way that he can’t explain. It is beyond all regulations that a volunteer nurse, who has practically no training and is only here to help those who have, should approach him at all. There is the Mater, who runs the nurses’ work, and if the surgeon shall be disturbed, it is only on the Matron’s order. 

“Nurse Penvenen!” he says sharply. “What are you doing here?”

“I do beg your pardon, Dr Enys”, she says, but there is no remorse at all in her voice. “But the sisters and I heard a plane crashing, and I want us to go find it to see if there is anything we can do for the poor pilot.”

Is this woman real? Doctor Enys puts his feet on the gound and scratches the back of his head.

“Nurse Penvenen, have you talked to Matron about this … plan?” he asks. 

Her face is partly lit up by the lamp in her hand, and the shadows are making her look dramatic. He can see that her hair is not properly done, but is hanging in a tousled plait, and her uniform is looking rumpled under a big shawl that is hanging loosely around her shoulders. 

She snorts.

“I thought it best to go directly to you, doctor Enys, since you are the one calling the shots anyway”, she says in a haughty voice.

Just as he had thought, then; she does not comply to the rules. It makes him furious, and yet, he cannot help but being impressed with her eagerness to help.

“Well, Miss Penvenen”, he says, “as much as I applaud your spirit and your good will, I must say that it would be very risky to start such a rescue in the middle of the night and through enemy land.”

“I can see that”, she answers, “but it will be even more dangerous in the morning when we can be seen by everyone, not to mention the poor souls who might be stuck in the plane and who may not make it if we delay.”

She straightens her back and looks at him with a serious face. When he doesn’t answer, she is making a movement as if to leave. Dwight quickly says:

“How would you even find them?”

“Oh, Horace would help us. He is very good at tracing.”

Dwight can’t stop a laughter from escaping his throat, but the young nurse doesn’t join in, and he tries to hide it in a coughing. 

“Do we have your permission, then?” she asks in an even haughtier tone of voice than earlier.

He shakes his head.

“Miss Penvenen, it would not be right of me to ask you to go on such a perilous mission.”

“You haven’t asked”, she says, before she turns around and leaves.

He sees the light disappearing, and the room becomes dark again. He remains sitting on his bedside, ambivalent and confused. Mater will not take lightly upon learning that this young woman has approached him, instead of her. Order is disturbed, and no good comes of that. Except, of course, if they really can save the life of the pilot. Then, perhaps it is worth the odd disruption of order? But it will not be easy for nurse Penvenen, and surely not for himself either, if this comes out.

* * * 

The chilly air meets the young surgeon when he exits the surgery compartment the next morning. He has had practically no sleep at all this past night, first due to the bomb raids nearby, and then to the worries of the young volunteer nurses that have been out scampering in the middle of enemy territory on a heroic yet doomed rescue mission. And then, the patients started to come in, wounded soldiers from the battlefield, who he has been operating on all night, one after the other, without end it had seemed. And finally, towards the dawn, the pilot of the crashed plane had been brought in, not wounded but with an aching shoulder.

All through it, he had had the young nurses on his mind. He ought not to have let them go, but they probably would have done it anyway, and he was really impressed with their willingness. What this day may hold for him is yet to be discovered, but he is sure that there will be aftermaths of this night’s adventures. He quickly changes from his bloody surgeon clothes into a clean, white doctor’s coat, after having washed his hands and his face thoroughly in the chilly water.

In the canteen, he sees Mater having her breakfast, and he nods at her. She does not seem to know, yet, as she nods back at him the same way as usual. After having finished his coffee and toast, he hurries off to make his morning round, before he will get an hour of rest back in his own sleeping quarters. His eyes are full of grovel, and he keeps winking not to fall asleep. 

Right inside the tent opening of the convalescent ward, he stumbles straight onto nurse Penvenen, and he starts and stops, staring at her with his mouth half open as if he is seeing an angel. Her face is pale and tired, but her eyes are sparkling with joy as they meet his. He can see that she, too, has had no sleep since they met in his tent, many hours ago. He wants to say something to her, thank her, ask her to tell the story of the rescue, but he is suddenly all tongue-tied and foolish. All he manages is a smile and a short nod, and then he quickly stretches his hand out and gently touches her arm.

“Well done”, he mumbles.

It is not much to say, it is nothing at all considering this woman has this very night put her own life at risk to save the pilot, but his mouth is dry and his head is spinning. Despite his silly remark, nurse Penvenen rewards him with a smile so dashing that it takes his breath away.

“Thank you”, she says, makes a perfect little curtsy, and hurries out. 

Doctor Enys starts his morning round in a haze, followed around by nurse Carne, as usual, whom he has found to be reliable and trustworthy, as well as a good nurse. She, too, is a volunteer, but she has already picked up more by experience than her training has given her, and he has noticed that Mater often puts her in charge of tasks that are really above her status – he can only guess what kind of gossip and grumble this may cause among the trained, professional nurses, but in times like these all good forces must gather, regardless of status.

The man with the amputated leg is still alive, but is groaning woefully in his bed. Dwight gives nurse Carne an appreciating look.

“You have kept him alive, well done”, he says, and she smiles and looks down. 

The convalescent ward is busy this morning, moving patients around to make room for the new arrivals, and anyone fit to move on their own behalf must do so. Ross Poldark is one of them. He is already sitting with his legs over the edge of his bed when Dwight comes by.

“Good morning”, he says. 

“Good morning, doctor. Busy night?”

“Yes, it was a busy night. Did you get any sleep yourself?” he asks. “And how is your wound today?”

“The wound is fine”, Ross answers, “and as soon as I get someone to tell me where to go, I will move out of here to make place for the poor sods from last night.”

“That is most generous of you”, Dwight says. “But please wait until we know where to move you to. And until someone can help you get there.”

“I think I can manage to walk”, Ross mutters.

“I will help you, sir”, nurse Carne offers.

The patient takes a glance at her, and nods as much as he can, considering his bandages.

“Thank you”, he says, and Dwight cannot tell what pains this man the most; his wounded face or his injured pride.

Then the man directs his one free eye to Dwight again, and says.

“My apologies for my bad temper yesterday.”

Dwight raises his eyebrows in honest surprise.

“I didn’t notice any bad temper”, he answers honestly.

“I ought not have interrupted you so rudely as I did”, Ross admits. “You were trying to encourage me.”

“I was talking of things that were not my business, so you were completely right to stop me”, Dwight says.

Ross inhales.

“I had just received a letter from home, you see,” he continues, “and there was no happy news.”

“I am sorry to hear that, sir”, Dwight says. “Still, I hope you will find strength enough to recover.”

Ross smiles sadly at him.

“Thank you”, he says.

Then he directs his gaze to the nurse again, and just like the day before, Dwight can feel something shifting in the atmosphere.

“So, you will come for me, then, when it is time?” he says.

Nurse Carne makes one of her clumsy attempts at curtsying, and chuckles, but Dwight quickly answers:

“Mater will see to it that everyone gets the help he needs”, he says in a firm voice, before they move on to the next patient.

Bad news from home can be all a man needs to make excuses for throwing himself into a fling with a pretty nurse, far away from responsibilities and consequences – for either of them. And although people are adults and have the right to do as they please with their own lives, at least Dwight will not make it easier for them to make misbegotten choices and destroy their future. 

When he stumbles over the muddy ground back towards his own tent, feeling so tired that he hardly can walk straight, he catches a glimpse of nurse Penvenen, as she is entering into the storage tent, a list in her hand. This is the kind of chores Mater will give her; picking up and carrying. Only he knows that this particular volunteer has a lot more to offer. She, too, has worked all night, on a more dangerous mission than him, and he wishes he could sit down with her and hear her telling him all about it. But she doesn’t see him, and he is soon inside his quarters, falling down upon his bed exhausted, without even getting his boots off. He is completely set against relationships in the field hospital, and he would never encourage anyone to enter into a relationship under these extraordinary circumstances. And yet, the last conscious thought on his mind is her smile.


	3. A Sore Throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight shares a secret with Ross and tends to Caroline when she has a sore throat.

“I am sorry to hear you 'ave 'ad bad news from home, sir”, nurse Carne says as she is leading Captain Poldark from the convalescent tent into the officers’ quarters.

After the last bomb raid, all patients that could be transferred from the hospital have had to move out to make room for the new arrivals, and those who are officers have been offered beds among the stationed officers and the doctors. Everyone must be prepared to make an extra effort, even those who work here, and an extra bed has been placed within the canvas walls of Dr Dwight Enys’ humble lodgement. It is of course not preferable to share a room with one’s patients, but Dwight is not the kind of person to withdraw from his responsibilities or to uphold privileges instead of helping out.

Captain Poldark leans more heavily on the young nurse than he had thought he would need, feeling both pain and dizziness from his injury. The young woman is strong and beautiful, with her red hair and green eyes, but he also notices her lack of refinement and schooling. She is a housekeeper kind of woman, he believes, and she seems to be used to do her part without complaining. An ideal companion to any man with a large and neglected estate to take care of. Especially considering the news he had from home recently about his future wife.

He inhales deeply.

“My father died”, he explains.

“Oh, I am sorry to hear it, sir”, she replies in her lower-class dialect, which connects her to the same part of the country as he comes from. 

“Yes, thank you”, he answers as he stumbles over the bumpy ground. “My father had been ill for a while, but I thought he would recover and that I would have time to come back home to see him before he …”

He bites his jaw. Why does he talk like this to a stranger? He cannot tell. But this is a situation where strangers become friends, and attachments from home are far away, perhaps never to be returned to. If a man does not take the chance to live while there is still life in him, it may turn out that he never gets the chance. So, with his free eye he manages to glance at this pretty nurse, who is obviously attracted to him. 

The surgeon is not in his sleeping quarter at the moment, and he probably spends very little time here. It may turn out to be lonelier for Ross to be staying here than it has been in the convalescent ward. Still, he is glad to be out of there. Sharing a lodging with other injured men makes him feel worse than he is, and he plans to get well within a few days or so. 

Nurse Carne helps him to sit down on his bed, and then makes her clumsy curtsy before leaving him.

 

A few days pass before Dwight gets the chance to talk to volunteer nurse Penvenen again. He is busy with all the new patients, and she is kept occupied by the Mater with her chores. He sees her across the field when she is moving between the tents, or in the canteen where she is having her breakfast together with the other volunteers. It happens that their eyes meet, and when they do, she smiles, but he is embarrassed and looks away.

His mind is set on not repeating his fatal mistake with nurse Daniels, a history that is by now forgotten by most of the others, especially since many of them have arrived after she died and hopefully have not heard the gossip. But his cheeks still blush at the mere thought of it, and his determination against relationships while on duty is since then more firmly founded than ever. The memory of their secret encounters in the storage tent makes his heart beat. Oh, her way of flirting with him, so unabashed, now he can’t believe that he fell for it! To his defence, he didn’t know that she was married, not at first. And when he learnt it, it was too late, his heart was lost already, and his mind, too. 

Then it all ended in horror, as Mr Daniels came to see her on his 72-hour leave, a memory that still shakes Dwight to the bone whenever it turns up in his mind.

No doubt the story has reached the new nurses and volunteers, too, he thinks to himself. Probably they tell it right away to any new person arriving here – beware of that surgeon, who claims to be such a fine man, rescuing people from death and sacrificing his own security; yeah right! 

That is why he can’t bear to look at nurse Penvenen, coming here into the mud and the greyness, looking as a newly sprung rose, spreading light to his sore eyes and sending electric waves to his heart, that seems to have not been beating at all for the past two years and is now suddenly kicked into life again, oh, so painfully. Nurse Penvenen is the straight opposite of Keren; where the latter was dark and mysterious, saucy and cunning, nurse Penvenen is light and straightforward, to the point and intelligent. Where Keren was low, this woman is high, and where Keren was appealing to his lust, nurse Penvenen is attracting him with her wit and her fervour. And, of course, with her radiant beauty, a beauty of the kind that he ought to respond to with awe rather than desire, since it is so high above his reach. And yet, it is impossible not to desire her. He would be a fool if he didn’t realise that desire is probably the most common reaction in all men that meet her, and that somewhere back in her ordinary circumstances, there is a line of at least a hundred suitors, all of whom are more eligible than a lowly military surgeon with a stained reputation. 

And so, he forces his eyes to bend away from her, and to not seek her out in the crowd of volunteers (as if it were possible not to single her out, even when she is surrounded by the other young nurses in the same uniforms; her head high above all the others, her wheat coloured hair catching a ray of sun that makes it sparkle by her temples, her white teeth flashing when she smiles).

He stumbles upon her in the doorway to the convalescent ward again, and he nods and blushes, according to his new habit. She is clearing her throat and is holding a hand loosely around her neck. She nods back at him, but she doesn’t smile, only hurries on. It hurts him, but he knows that this is the only right way to go. 

A few days later she is in the convalescent ward while he is making his evening round among the patients. She is looking paler than usual, he notices, but he tries not to be distracted by her presence. Two patients have died since the bomb night, and after that, the battle has subsided and moved further away again, which has given them a few days’ respite. The patients that are still left are slowly recovering, and Dwight feels content. 

When he leaves the ward, suddenly he hears steps in the mud behind him.

“Doctor Enys”, she calls, and he turns around on the spot, a smile escaping him, which he hopes that she won’t notice in the dusk.

“Nurse Penvenen”, he says. “How do you do?”

She is still holding her hand around her neck, and she is looking a little bit worried.

“! am sorry to disturb you, Doctor Enys”, she says, “but I have a tingling in my throat. I have had it since yesterday, and it doesn’t seem to go away.”

“I’m sure it is nothing severe”, he answers. “You look like the model of health.”

“I was afraid it could be the croup or something”, she says, and he smiles and shakes his head.

“There is no risk for that”, he concludes. “If you get a fever you must tell the Mater, so we don’t run the risk of infecting the patients. Good night.”

He turns and walks off towards his own quarters. He doesn’t feel very good about himself, having cut her off like this. Still, it is the right thing to do, and a sore throat is nothing to worry about. It pained him to see the anxiety and the disappointment in her eyes, but there was no other option. The rumours about her, that he has been unable to keep himself completely cut off from, have told him that there is indeed a fiancée waiting for her back home, although she is not wearing a ring, and that she is a wealthy heiress. For his own poor heart’s sake, he must keep her at arm’s length.

 

In his room, his patient, Captain Ross Poldark, is not yet asleep in his bed, but is reading one of his own books that he has lent him, in the dim light of a paraffin lamp. 

“How are you tonight?” he asks, and the patient smiles kindly.

“Better, thank you,”, he says. “But you do not have to work in here. I am grateful that you let me stay here, and I don’t want you to feel that I am intruding in your privacy.” He coughs a little, and adds, “I mean, I am intruding, of course, but I hope you will still be able to relax here.”

Dwight smiles back as he sits down on the side of his bed and takes his boots off.

“Thank you”, he says. “It’s all right. I don’t mind the company.”

He puts his boots neatly by the end of the bed, and lies down.

“I hear you have lost you father?” he says.

Ross puts his book away and sighs.

“That is true”, he says. “He was ill for a month, apparently, and then he passed quickly.”

“I am sorry”, Dwight says. “Is that what you meant with having nothing to return to?”

Ross clears his throat.

“I was in a bad mood that day”, he excuses himself. “But yes, I had just received the news. And also, the news that my father’s man servant and his wife have neglected the place most gravely. As did my father, to be honest, but since he died it has all escalated, I am told.”

“That sounds bad, indeed”, Dwight agrees.

“And…”, Ross hesitates for a moment, before deciding that the doctor is a man whom he can trust. “Furthermore, I received news that the love of my life is going to marry my cousin.”

He says the words quickly, as if he has to brace himself to manage them. Dwight gives him a compassionate glance.

“That surely sounds awful”, he says. 

Ross sighs.

“It is hard to find the strength to fight when all your prospects are shattered”, he mumbles.

“I know”, Dwight says quietly. 

Ross gives him an inquiring look, and he puts his hands behind his neck.

“You may have heard the talk about me here in the hospital”, he mutters.

“No, I haven’t”, Ross replies. 

Dwight decides to tell his version of the sad tale of himself and nurse Keren Daniels, the story he has been trying to hide from everyone. It is a relief, and from this night on, he realises that he has made a new friend.

 

Two days later, the Mater comes up to him in the canteen at supper.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Dr Enys”, she says, “but there is a young volunteer who has caught ill, and she is demanding your attention. I have been trying to put her off for these past few days, but today I am told that she is not leaving her bed at all. Perhaps, if you will be able to spare a moment sometime during the next few days, you might take a look at her.”

“Of course”, he says, and feels a secret hope forming in his chest. “I will visit her as soon as possible. We will not risk any epidemics among the staff, will we?” 

He smiles and nods, and Mater turns around and leaves.

Dwight finishes his supper in a haste and scurries off to the volunteer nurses’ tent. The air in there is damp, with a faint fragrance of soap amongst the mud, as he enters. The volunteers whisper and giggle as he enters, and stand up by their bedsides.

“At ease”, he says, smiling, as he makes his way down to the same bed as last time he was in here.

This time, it is not a dog that has taken ill. The heavenly nurse Penvenen is sitting up in her bed. Her hair is down, she is wearing her night gown instead of her uniform, and has a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her slender neck is free from the strict collar of the uniform, and she is looking at him with her large, deep-blue eyes full of fear. Seeing her like this sends a jolt of tenderness to his stomach, and he blinks a couple of times before sitting down next to her.

“Is it the throat?” he asks, and she nods. “Still no fever?”

“No”, she whispers, her hand still touching her neck like the last time they met.

“Now”, he says, “I will have to examine your throat. Open your mouth, please.”

She obeys, and he moves closer to her, and then moves one of the paraffin lamps standing nearby to make the light come closer.

“Nurse Carne”, he calls, “will you please come and hold the lamp for me?”

Nurse Carne is as always eager to please.

“There now”, he says. “I need you to sit absolutely still for me. This is going to hurt a little, but it will be over in no time, and then you will get better.”

A couple of minutes later, the young patient gets a glass of water from one of her colleagues, and is smiling at him in gratefulness.

“What did you do?” she asks.

He holds up the pincette to the light and shows her the fishbone.

“When did we have fish in the canteen last time?” he says.

“I think it was three days ago”, she answers.

Her relief is almost tangible, and she leans back on her pillow, patting her little pug, still touching her neck with her hand, but in a less worried kind of way. She is looking adorable, and Dwight can’t tear his eyes away from her. They smile at each other, oblivious of the other nurses.

“Is there anything I can do for Horace while I’m here?” he asks.


	4. A Very Brave Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline does another heroic mission without permission and is scolded by Dwight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I did some research for writing this fic, I stumbled upon a story of brave nurses during the war who did extraordinary things. I felt that Caroline had to be one of them, and that Horace had to be that dog. It also added nicely to the main story of this AU.

It is just before dawn when Dwight steps out of his tent. The Mater has called for him, since there is a patient in the convalescent ward that is needing his urgent attention. He hurries over the bumpy ground, barely making out the shapes of the other tents around him against the faint light of the sky. In an hour, all will be up and about, but at this hour everything is still quiet and calm. There have been battle during the night in a field nearby, and he suspects that in the morning they will have to go out and search for survivors. 

He knows his way on this premise very well after these three years of service, and he could walk here in his sleep without stumbling. But a movement catches his eye, something white is flapping somewhere in the darkness, and he hears the sound of steps walking through mud. His patient is waiting, but he must check out who it is that is moving around the grounds, so he stops and squints towards the noise and the fluttering white thing. In a gap between the tents he can make out the silhouettes of two heads towards the sky behind them, and he furrows his brow. Quickly, he moves a few steps closer, not knowing if they are spies or enemies, or maybe thieves coming to search through the storage of supplies. 

“Who’s there?” he calls out, not loud enough to disturb anyone, but enough to make them aware of his presence.

“Doctor Enys”, comes her voice in reply, as always sounding eager and self-assured. “I am so glad to meet you!”

“Nurse Penvenen!” he says, both baffled and annoyed, as so often with this particular nurse. “What are you doing out in the middle of the night? And who is there with you?”

He waits, and the nurse and the other person turn and walk towards him. Around their feet, Horace the pug is running, and now Dwight sees that the dog has a large piece of white sheet tied around his fat neck, flapping around him like a cloak.

“What on Earth have you been up to?” Dwight demands, now sounding sterner and controlled again.

The nurse is stopping in front of him, and Dwight sees that a soldier is holding his arm round her shoulders, his head hanging down, and she is supporting him with her arm around the young man’s waist. 

“Is he hurt?” he asks.

“Yes”, nurse Penvenen answers, “we heard the battle during the night, you see, doctor Enys, and as soon as it stopped, we went out there to start retrieving them.”

“Nurse Penvenen, you…” 

He stops, not knowing what to say. The pink light of the morning sky is reflected in her hair, that is pulled together in a bun under her nurse’s cap, except for a few curls that have escaped and are framing her cheeks. Her white teeth shine in her dark face, giving her a mysterious aura, and he can hear from her breathing that she is exhausted from helping the poor soul all the way from the battle field back to the field hospital. The soldier seems to be more or less unconscious. Dwight steps up to the soldier’s other side and puts his other arm around his own shoulders.

“We must take him to the examination room in the surgery tent”, he says as they start walking. “Who else were with you?”

“Nurse Carne, Nurse Martin, and nurse Teague”, she says. “They are all coming back, soon, too, but perhaps we will have to get back there with a stretcher.”

He bites his jaw, staring at the ground to avoid tufts that can make him stumble and loose his balance, although it is still too dark for him to really see anything.

“Nurse Penvenen”, he says with restraint anger, “do you have no respect for our routines? What if the enemy had still been out there and had spotted you? You could all have become prisoners of war – or worse! And do you have any respect for the setback that it would have meant for our activity here in the hospital, if we were to lose three or four of our volunteers like that?”

He presses his lips tightly, feeling his anger has gotten the better of him. He is scolding her for doing more than what is expected of her, and he knows it. Moreover, he almost trips over the pug that keeps running around their feet. Suddenly, he can’t resist a chuckle, and adds in a friendlier tone:

“And why have you dressed Horace up in a cloak like a lady?”

They have reached the tent, and as they are entering, Dwight reaches for the paraffin lamp and the match box that are placed right inside the opening. He strikes a match and turns on the lamp, leading them in to the bunk where the wounded soldier can finally be put down.

He glances at nurse Penvenen in the light, and notices that she straightens her back and her neck and exhales deeply after the effort. Her face is looking tired, but her eyes have that certain glow of fervour and determination that he has seen in them so many times before. Then she turns and looks him straight in the eyes. Dwight feels flustered and is blushing, but he does not look away.

“If you must know, doctor Enys,” she says in her haughtiest tone of voice, lifting her chin and looking down her nose at him, “I wrote a message on a piece of sheet to the enemy, asking for permission to come and collect our wounded men, and tied it around Horace’s neck, and then we sent him off into the field. He was very brave.“

Dwight gasps. 

“Are you serious?” he whispers, as he starts to touch the soldier’s arms and legs to examine him. The young man groans a little, but still seems hardly conscious.

“Yes, I am. And they sent him back, answering that we could come. So, we did.”

Dwight shakes his head a little, and looks at her again. She has the same look as before, high and superior, and somewhat upset at him, which he very well understands. 

“And since you asked, I may as well answer you. I do respect regulations, sir, but I am here to save lives, and I believe that we may have done a better job at that tonight than we would have, had we waited till morning. Thank you, and good night to you.”

With these words, she turns around and marches out of the room, leaving him with the solder.

“Miss Penvenen!” he calls after her, and then corrects himself: “Nurse… Nurse Penvenen, please come back!”

She stops right in the opening of the canvas, half-turning her head back towards him without looking at him. The perfect contour of her brow, her rather pointed but beautiful nose, and her mellow lips send a flutter to his stomach. Oh, if only she were not so beautiful! Or, if there were any chance in the world that he would ever get to kiss those heavenly lips.

“Yes, doctor”, she says, her voice full of disdain.

“I was about to go to the convalescent ward when you came. Can you please stay with this young man, until I come back for a proper examination? Otherwise, we may lose a life in the hospital, instead.”

She hesitates for less than a second, then turns around again and comes back in, still without condescending to looking at him. She walks up to the other side of the bunk, folds her hands and gives a short nod.

Dwight gives her a long look, wishing that there was something he could say or do that would change the dynamics between them. Instead, he inhales deeply, blinks a couple of times, and then manages to tear himself away and leave.


	5. A Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline writes a letter to Unwin whilst reflecting upon her life.

Caroline clears her throat as she puts the sheet of paper on the desk in the corner of the volunteer nurses’ tent, and takes out her writing tools. She is decided, this letter has to be written, and this evening is as good a time as any. The other girls are moving and chattering in the tent, but they have an unspoken agreement not to disturb each other when they are writing letters. Caroline hasn’t done a lot of that, but tonight, it’s her turn. 

She is not a sentimental kind of person, and she was never even emotionally attached to Unwin. And yet, breaking up with him like this, in the middle of a war, not knowing when or where it will reach him, or under what circumstances, is not optimal. She inhales, and starts forming the letters in the light from a single candle on the desk top, communicating to him what she has known intrinsically for two years; that she will never marry him. She has known it in her heart, if not her head. But she never thought that her heart would have a say in the matter, and so she has stopped listening to it a long time ago. She sighs and pinches her nose a little, before continuing.

It’s not that he is a bad person, rather quite the contrary – he is ridiculous, of course, but so are most of the men she has met, ever, and he is a politician, but a person must be allowed a few flaws. He has been putting up with her salty remarks, though mortified at times, but so have all the men who have ever expressed any kind of interest in her. She would always jest on their behalf, treat them with all the superiority and disdain that she could fit into a sentence, and they would allow it, because she was rich and pretty. Some would say that she was cruel, but to her that was like calling a lion in a golden cage cruel; it may roar and show its claws, but in the end, it is but a captive. So was she, caught within a cage of lace and corsets and expectations, tied with bonds made out of money and obligations. 

The truth is, her heart had died with her mother, all those years ago. Emotions became harmful to her, and she learnt to never let them show. She even practiced by pinching herself in front of a mirror while smiling, in order to always being able to produce a natural and beautiful smile, no matter how she felt inside. And it worked; she smiled at her Uncle every time he brought her a gift, whether she liked the thing she got or not. And she smiled at all those young men that kept parading through her life. She always felt that they were there for the money – money, that was not hers. Herself was nothing but a doll that came with the bargain. And she felt the obligation to please her Uncle, who had given her everything. She would have to marry someone, and any husband would be as good as the other, so she didn’t care much about who it would be in the end. When her Uncle seemed pleased with the politician Trevaunance, she accepted it as her fate, and the option of marrying for sentimental reasons such as love was one that she hardly even dreamed of for herself.

And then, the war came. She knows that it is wrong of her to consider the war a liberation, but for her, it was. Suddenly, she was no longer under siege; all the men that had hovered around her for years disappeared, and she could for the first time since she was a little girl do as she pleased. She learnt how to drive an automobile, and the thrill of the speed and the wind in her face awoke a laughter in her that she had not had for years; not the controlled, sarcastic one of silver pearls that she had exercised for so long, but an organic laughter, like the sound of a brook in the spring that breaks through the walls and flows out into the wild, giving life to a landscape. And when more and more of the young women of their acquaintance enrolled as volunteers in different operations, the idea struck her, that she, too, could do that. Uncle Ray had of course been against it, at first, but she had since long learnt what tricks he would fall for, and now she had used them all until she had had her way.

Finally, she had landed here, out in enemy land, amongst mud and grass and dirt and blood, doing things she had never done before. By subordinating herself to the orders of others, she had experienced a freedom she had hardly thought existed anymore. And she had found that the strength that she had for so long only used to keep herself locked in, could be turned in the other direction, outwards, and that she was capable of things far beyond her imagination. It was intoxicating and made her fearless, giving her the impression that she was invincible.

And so, in her new environment, she had forgotten to guard her heart. Opened wide by her new life, by the vulnerability of the soldiers and the strength of the nurses, by the smells and odours of the field hospital, and the fragrances of the nearby forest in the mornings when she took Horace for a walk, she had been totally unprepared for the strike back of her true emotions. 

She sniffs, and touches her nose again. Perhaps she has caught a cold, or, perhaps it is just her sentiments stirring within her as she tries to find the right words for her letter.

She had been completely unprepared for Doctor Enys. A strange man he is, with a quaint name. There are the obvious things about him, of course; his good looks, those strong arms, his blue eyes, so full of kindness, that crooked smile that he smiles when he doesn’t mean to smile at all but can’t help himself – oh, she smiles to herself just thinking about it! His lovely hair, curling delicately above his ears, as if it were begging her to run her fingers through it. His lips – she wonders what it would feel like to be kissed by him, and she blushes at the thought; she was never one to care for a man, or to dream of romance, but she seems unable to clear her mind from the curiosity and the deep surge in her stomach at the thought of it.

And then, all the other things, the complex things, the incomprehensible ones. The contrapositions of his character; such as the fact that he has to be a very brave man to spend so many years as a field surgeon, and yet, he doesn’t dare to look her in the eyes, at least not for long. And the rumours about his love affair with a nurse, rumours about secret rendezvous’ when they thought that nobody knew; it means, he must be a man of passion, and yet he seems so stern and deprecatory towards herself, so held back. Yet, his touch when he examined her throat and took out the fish bone was delicate and sensitive, and though the operation caused her pain, the lasting impression for her was pleasure. And hope. At that moment, he had looked at her as if he really saw her, and she was not even dressed, so it couldn’t be that he was blinded by fashion or pearls. No, he saw her, she knows it, and it felt like the first time that a man looked at her and saw a person instead of a fortune.

So, why does he keep pretending that he doesn’t like her? She is hurt by it, used as she is to being the centre of attention in any society, and especially among men. He keeps scolding her for all she does, and her answers do not seem to change that; she is accustomed to giving sharp replies that quiet most people – indeed, she is used to being the one scolding others – but here, it is him scolding her, and she hardly knows why. Except, of course, for the simple reason that he can’t stand her. Which seems both obvious and untrue at the same time.

So, here she is, left in the middle of a war between countries, among mud and wounded men, finding herself breaking up with a man whom she doesn’t love for the sake of a man who doesn’t love her. It is ironic, and yet, there is nothing else she can do. She knows it, now. Her heart is open to love, again, and now she cannot bear the thought of closing it. The war makes some people die, and others come alive.

Something hot is falling down her cheek, and she quickly wipes the tear away with the back of her hand, sniffs a little and straightens her neck. She ought to be crying for Unwin, if indeed she would have the right to cry at all. But her feelings for him are nothing but mere pity. 

She is finished. She folds the letter, puts it in the envelope, and blows out the candle. Tomorrow, she will send it with the mail, and then, at last she will be completely free of all the old cages and chains. Now, all that is left to bind her, are the soft strings of love.


	6. An Important Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace is being declared, but Caroline is not there to hear it, so Dwight goes to find her.

There is a restlessness in his body, a sense of stress or irritation, a creeping in his veins, something that is speeding up his pulse and stinging inside his bones. He is walking with firm steps, his eyes fixed on the ground, hurrying from the officers’ tent towards the storage tent.

Peace, there is peace! A cease fire has just been announced in a telegram and on the radio, the moment was solemn and euphoric at the same time, unbelievable, yet final, and the message of peace is what they have been hoping and waiting for, for years. Finally, it is here! At least, there will be no more fighting, and a peace treaty is to be negotiated. They had gathered as many as they could find into the canteen and managed to pull the radio cables along, so all the staff available could come and listen. There was the moment of euphoria and relief, of fairytale happiness and the sense that all evil in the world has been washed away.

But she was not there.

Now, he is treading with resolute steps towards the storage tent; she must be there, or else he will not know what to do or where to go.

It was not until it happened that he realized it. That he has actually dreamt of this moment for quite a while. It has not been a conscious fantasy, but when the moment came – and passed – his restlessness was proof enough of its existence in his mind.

Of course, he has imagined, many times, the moment when peace would be declared; what it would be like, when it would come, how they would announce it. That moment of delirious joy, those precious seconds when peace would create a gap in time, when people would do things and say things and act in ways they never would otherwise, because of the uniqueness of the moment. People would laugh, cry, sing, shout out loud, kiss each other. Yes, even strangers could turn to one another and in the spur of the moment give each other a kiss, in a way that would never be thinkable or acceptable in any other circumstances, but that would be forgiven and forgotten because it was a celebration of peace, of life, at such a moment.

And that is what he as secretly wished for; knowing that there will never be another chance that he will be allowed to kiss her for the rest of his life, the moment of peace would be his opening, his once in a life time opportunity to kiss her. How he would turn to her, quite casually, smiling a lofty smile, an expression of peace, and then kiss her, swiftly but steadily, on those rose bud lips, and no one would mind or care, people would be kissing all around them. 

Exactly this, he has now seen happening all around him. He has seen Captain Poldark kiss the young volunteer nurse Carne, more than just casually, and he has seen other officers and patients kissing other young nurses, and they have all laughed and blushed and joined in the singing and cheering, and even Mater have smiled and passed around cups of brandy to salute the new world order.

So, where was she? Why could she never adhere to orders? His mind is spinning, as he plods up to the storage tent and enters. He has no plan, and doesn’t know what he will say or do when he finds her; but find her, he must. The restlessness in him will not cease.

“Nurse Penvenen, are you there?” he asks out loud, turning his head around in all directions to see if he can catch a glimpse of her uniform or her hair through the piles of boxes.

Then his heart jumps as he hears her voice:

“Yes, doctor Enys, I am.”

Presently she appears in front of him, holding a pack of towels in her arms. Her face has a worried expression, and she is looking at him inquiringly.

“What is it?” she says.

Dwight stares at her, suddenly tongue-tied and foolish. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, blinks and looks away, then turns his gaze back to her. This was not in the script, and he feels flustered and annoyed. This is not the situation he has prepared for. He clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse.

“They have announced peace today”, he says. “There is a cease-fire, and as of tomorrow the war is officially over.”

She stares at him for a second or two, her eyes wandering back and forth between both of his, as if she is expecting him to say something more. When she realizes that he won’t, she inhales deeply and smiles.

“Such wonderful news”, she says. “You were looking so stern that I expected something bad, but this is of course quite the contrary!”

Her smile is wide and friendly, her parted lips irresistible, her teeth shiny through the dim light inside the tent, her eyes glistening.

“Yes”, he says, still unable to compose himself.

There is a moment of confusion, as they stand there, looking at each other, none of them knowing what to say next.

“You didn’t come to the canteen”, he says. “You were supposed to be there together with the rest of them, to listen to the broadcast.”

She raises her brow in surprise.

“I’m sorry”, she says. “I didn’t know that. When was it announced?”

“This morning.”

“I must have been out with Horace at the time”, she says, and smiles again, less widely this time, and lifts her chin a little. “Have you searched me out to chide me, doctor Enys?” 

Her teasing tone is unbearable, but he doesn’t care. He is still standing there, his hand resting on a cardboard box, panting as if he has just come from some heavy exercise. 

“No”, he manages.

Then he looks away. This is ridiculous, he knows it. The spontaneous kiss that he has dreamt of cannot come to pass here and now. Why did he even come here? Why could he not have left it as it was? The restlessness, oh, the ache in his body.

She is starting to look uncomfortable, he feels it more than sees it, and she is moving her hand to bring back a lock of hair that has fallen down from her bun; she secures it behind her ear. He can hear her breathing. 

Caroline is waiting. Taken by surprise by his sudden appearance, and by his odd behavior. She can sense that there is something going on, under the surface, underneath the skin of the controlled manners and the serious and scolding tone of voice, but she cannot tell what it is. He seems nervous, and so does she feel, but there is nothing she can do. Only wait for him to bring himself to convey whatever it is that he is thinking. So, she waits, glancing at him, wondering, feeling her heart beating with hard thumps in her chest.

Suddenly, he takes two steps up to her, and she meets his eyes. 

Dwight finds that she is almost looking scared, but he is determined. This is what he came for, and he can’t bring himself to let go of the opportunity. He leans in towards her, his eyes on her mouth, and finally their lips meet, gently – her lips are warm and soft, the fragrance of her rosewater soap.

Caroline feels his nose touching her cheek. She doesn’t dare to breathe, only holds still, feeling her heart leaping, sensing the smell of his hair lotion and his uniform, and the intoxicating scent of his skin, of him.

He stays a little too long, probably, but then he withdraws, looking her in the eyes again. It seems to him that they have grown even deeper. He inhales, and a smile escapes him, one that comes from somewhere deep within, one that can’t be fought or hidden. It is obvious to him that she has never been kissed before, her way of responding by freezing tells him so, and the joy and pride he feels is beyond logic, and yet, there it is; he was the first man to ever kiss this lovely woman.

Dwight makes a little sound, a soft clearing of his throat.

“Now, no doubt you hate me”, he mumbles, smiling.

“Now, no doubt I hate you”, she repeats softly, but her eyes speak of the opposite, and he smiles again.

They remain standing there for a brief moment, she fumbles a little with her towels and puts them down beside her, and then she says:

“What will happen now? When will we all leave and go back home?”

“We will get our orders soon enough”, he answers. “I suppose it is a matter of days before we can start sending the patients home, and then we will pack everything up. Volunteers, such as yourself, will be able to leave right after the patients, or together with them if they need support on the way home. The rest of us will follow.”

“Where do you live?” she asks, and the question sends another smile to his face.

“In London”, he says.

She nods, but doesn’t add anything. He wants to do something more, to kiss her again, touch her, put his arms around her, but things are uncertain and he hesitates. Was this only one of those crazy peace kisses, or was it something more? He doesn’t know. For him, it was more – but for her?

But then she looks at him again, with eyes full of joy, her cheeks have turned a little red, and she lifts her chin up. He puts his hand to her neck and kisses her again, this time more calmly, more self-assuredly, moving his lips against hers and pulling her closer towards him. His hand finds its way around her waist, and he pulls her even closer, feeling her body warmth through his uniform; and finally, his restlessness is going to sleep, and there is peace, peace also inside of him.


	7. A Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight and Caroline must part when the war is over, but promise to write to one another and to meet again back home.

The days after the announcement of the cease fire seem endlessly slow. They all wait for more news and new orders, and the waiting is full of strain. There is few news from home, and many letters are being sent off. Patients and staff alike long to pack up the place and go home, but there will be at least a week before the first convoy will be able to leave.

Whenever Dwight and Caroline pass each other – in the canteen, in the convalescent tent, out in the yard – they exchange shy and happy smiles and glances, trying not to give themselves away in front of the others. As night falls, they steal away in the refuge of the darkness, to their secret rendezvous place behind the storage tent. They don’t dare to stay there too long lest they will be discovered and cause a scandal, but they can’t help themselves; they have to meet. The November darkness is cold and damp, and they stumble on the bumpy ground in the shadow behind the tent, their feet getting cold and their shoes smeared with the everlasting mud.

Then finally the news come, that patients and volunteer nurses will be brought back home, but the surgeon and the officers and the rest of the staff will have to stay on to pack up everything. 

Dwight and Caroline meet again, the last evening before they will be parted, and kiss behind the storage tent. He puts his hand to her cheek, smiling before he kisses her. Her breath turns to fumes, her eyes are dark and wide. Dwight feels his emotions running wild within him, but he exerts all the self-control that he can gather. She is young, and she has never kissed anyone before. He needs to give her time to discover herself, to learn about her own body’s reactions, as well as his, and he needs to teach her slowly, awakening her by giving her a little less than she wants, and letting her long for more. The situation helps him; they can’t stay for long – but even though he tries to hold back, they always stay longer than they had intended, and by kissing her softly and pulling back every now and then to make her want more, in the end it is still him that never gets enough of her.

Caroline feels his lips softly pressing against hers, feels his mouth opening and the tip of his tongue tickling her gently. She is breathing heavily, focused, curious, feeling both allure and fright. She looks at him in another way, now that she knows what it feels like to be kissed by him, how his skin smells, how the soft tips of his fingers feel when they touch her neck or her hand or her cheek. The sensations in her body are new to her, and she is not yet sure what to make of them, but the curiosity and the attraction overrides the fear and the strangeness, and though some of it seems odd and even somewhat appalling to her, there is something within her that keeps driving her on, making her press her body even closer to his, letting her hand glide up his arm, over his shoulder, and find its way to the lovely curls in the back of his neck, or to softly stroke his sideburns and his temples; something which fills her with a tenderness so strong that her body is shivering. 

As he kisses her neck, she giggles softly.

“I thought you didn’t like me”, she whispers.

He chuckles, and continues placing kisses along the upper part of her neck, where it is not hidden behind the high collar of her uniform.

“It is true”, he whispers back. “I do not like you”. He makes a pause and gives her a teasing glance. The headlamp on the other side of the tent leaves them in almost complete darkness, and the air smells of chill and withered leaves. She looks at him with an anticipating glimpse in her eyes, waiting for him to finish. He inhales and whispers: “I’m in love with you.”

She smiles, her teeth reflecting the faint light.

“Are you?” she asks, with that teasing tone of voice that so triggers him.

He hurls himself back at her neck, just behind her jaw, and says between the kisses that he places all over her neck and her face:

“I am. Utterly. Completely. Totally. Hopelessly. Endlessly.”

Her giggle turns into a laugh that she tries to quell.

“Oh my, doctor Enys”, she titters, “is that a proposal?”

He withdraws again, securing his hands in the small of her back so she can’t escape anywhere, and she rests her hands on his shoulders, looking straight into his eyes. Hers are full of mirth, but he senses there is an earnestness behind the surface of jesting. He exhales and swiftly nudges his nose against hers.

“I am but a poor military surgeon, and I have nothing to offer you but my love”, he says. “But if that is enough for you, then yes, it could be a proposal.”

He pauses, and she is silent for a while before she answers:

“But you don’t really know me at all. How can you be in love with me?”

He lifts his hand to pull back a curl of her hair, the same one that keeps escaping from her bun and bounces around her cheek in the loveliest way, and he places it gently behind her ear in the same way that he has seen her do herself.

“I do know you”, he says. “I know that you are brave and head-strong, and that your heart is pure as gold.” He makes a short pause. “And from what I’ve heard, you are also the heiress of a large estate.”

Caroline has smiled gently at his words, but now she lifts her eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, you know that? And is that why you are in love with me?” she asks, with a sudden poignancy.

Dwight feels her body turning tense, and he bites his lip.

“No, no”, he says quickly, “on the contrary! Or, I mean…” He feels his face turning hot and is glad about the poor light. “I only mean that I believe you are above me in every way, so much so, that I never dared to dream of a moment like this, when I would get to kiss you and tell you how I feel about you. And I don’t expect anything else than that you will forget about me and marry someone of your own kind, and… Caroline, what is the matter?”

She has pulled away from him and half-turned around, and Dwight bites his tongue. Why is he such an idiot? Why did he have to babble on like this?

He sighs deeply, reaching his hand out to swiftly touch her arm.

“I’m sorry”, he says. “I’m a fool, I know, and I have hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright”, she says, but he can hear by her tone of voice that she is constrained.

“You are right”, he continues, “I don’t know you very well. But I know you enough to be in love with you, and I want to get to know you more. And I want to kiss you like this every day for the rest of my life, if you would let me. But I know that I am poor, and it is true that I have nothing else to offer you but myself, which, I agree, is very little. How can I expect a lady like you to even consider such a proposal? Please, Caroline, do forgive my clumsiness. Forget everything I have said to you, ever, except that I love you.”

She turns her face to him again, and her eyes are sparkling through the darkness.

“I forgive you”, she says, and Dwight smiles in relief. “But you see, men have wanted me for my fortune for as long as I can remember, and I have never dared to dream of true love. I thought that in a place like this, I would get the chance to be something else than an heiress, a prospect for somebody else’s hopes. I wanted to be just me. It sounds crazy, I know…”

“It doesn’t sound crazy at all”, Dwight says, gently pulling her close to him again. “It sounds normal, and wise, and very brave. And right here, in this place, is where I fell for you, when you were nothing but a stubborn volunteer nurse to me, and the rumours I heard about you being an heiress, well, if anything, they put me off, because I realized that you were not in my league. But my heart refused to listen to my head, this time.”

“This time, again?” she asks, and Dwight looks down and inhales.

“So, you have heard, then?” he asks. “Well, it is true. I fell in love with another nurse three years ago, and it all ended in horror. I will have her death on my conscience for the rest of my life.”

He sighs again, and Caroline notices a streak of pain passing over his face. The tenderness is welling up inside of her again, so strongly that her throat grows thick, and she puts her fingers to his cheek. Dwight puts his hand on top of hers and leans into her touch, blinking to clear his eyes from the sudden sting of tears.

“I think we need to go back, now”, he says and tries a smile.

Caroline nods.

“I will leave tomorrow”, she says.

“I know.”

His hand strokes her cheek very gently and slowly, as if he is trying to memorize the sense of it.

“Will you write to me?” she asks.

“Will you let me?”

“Of course, I will!” 

“Then, I will write to you as often as possible.”

“How long will it be until you will go back home, too?”

“I don’t know. It could be a few months, I’m afraid.”

She sighs.

“Will you come and see me when you’re back home?”

“If you’ll invite me”, he smiles.

She reaches up and kisses his lips again; it is the first time that she is taking the initiative to a kiss, and it gives Dwight a thrill to his stomach. Then she looks at him with earnest eyes.

“Was that invitation enough for you, doctor Enys?” she says.

He nods happily.

“It was, but you will have to stop calling me doctor Enys. My name is Dwight.”

She chuckles.

“I know, Dwight. It’s such a funny name!”

“Funny?” he says, pretending to be hurt, but she can tell that he is only joking by his glittering eyes.

“Dwight!” she says. “It sounds like a sneeze.”

“Bless you”, he says, and they both laugh.

Then Caroline inhales deeply.

“I will wait for you to come every day”, she says.

“I will miss you every day”, he says. “And I will come to see you as soon as I set foot on England’s soil again.”

 

* * *

The next morning, he is standing at the back of the lorry, helping the patients that can walk to climb up into the loading area. It has a structure of iron bars holding up a tarpaulin for roof and walls; it is all there is to protect the passengers from the cold and the rain.

One of the last persons to climb in is Captain Poldark, and before entering he grabs Dwight’s hand and gives it a firm shake, as he looks him straight into the eyes. The bandages around his head have been removed, and he is only wearing a couple of patches across his cheek and on his forehead, but he is allowed to have his eye free again, and the look in his dark eyes is honest and friendly.

“Thank you”, he says, pressing Dwight’s hand a little extra. “I am very grateful to you for the job you have done, stitching my face together again.”

“Oh, I was only doing my job, sir”, Dwight answers.

Ross smiles and waves his hand at him.

“Please”, he says”, “let’s put the titles aside. The war is over, and we have been sharing a tent for a couple of months. I would very much like to consider you my friend. My name is Ross.”

Dwight nods, smiling.

“Dwight”, he says, wondering for how long his new friend will shake his hand before letting go of it.

Ross gives Dwight a dab on his arm, presses his hand once more before letting it go, and says:

“If you ever pass through Cornwall, make sure to come and visit us.”

“Thank you”, Dwight says. “There is actually a risk that I’ll take you up on that.”

He knows that Caroline’s uncle is living in Cornwall, and though he has no other connections there, he thinks it might be well worth an extra mile or two, to visit his new friend.

Ross laughs heartily, pats his arm once more before swinging himself up on the lorry with ease. He is looking younger than he did when he first arrived, Dwight thinks, and it seems that at least some of the zest for life has returned to him. It is not hard to tell why. A red head is peeking out behind the green tarpaulin, and the eyes of the lovely nurse Carne are in view. Dwight sees her smiling towards the Captain, and he takes her hand after finding his seat next to her on the wooden benches that go alongside the lorry.

The driver comes up to Dwight, a cigarette in his mouth.

“Is that every one?” he asks.

“No, there is one more nurse”, Dwight answers, searching eagerly before finally catching a glimpse of blonde hair in the opening of the nurses’ tent. 

He follows her with his eyes as she treads over the field for the last time, carrying a large bag in which, he is certain, Horace is lying, sound asleep, fed with all kinds of goodies to keep him quiet and satisfied. She is walking with ease, holding her skirt in her other hand, still in her uniform, as all the nurses, since they will be on duty all the way back to England.

As she comes up to him, she stops for a second. Their eyes meet, and Dwight feels a pang in his heart, hard enough to make him cough. Caroline holds her hand out, and he grabs it.

“Thank you, doctor Enys”, she says.

There is a note inside her hand that she is giving him, and when he feels it, his cheeks turn red. Caroline notices, and he can see a soft smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you, nurse Penvenen”, he says, though his voice suddenly sounds hoarse. “You have been a great asset to us.”

She gives him that radiant, lovely smile, before letting go of his hand and turning towards the lorry.

“Please, let me help you with your bag”, he says, and manages to touch her fingers that are holding the handles while taking it from her. 

It seems that he needs to touch her, to feel her, as much as possible, not knowing when or where he will meet her again. She enters, finds a place opposite Ross and Demelza, who are holding hands quite openly, and Dwight feels a wave of envy that they are allowed to show their affection for each other, but himself is not allowed any such thing. Not yet.

Caroline leans forward, and Dwight gently puts her bag on the floor in front of her. Their eyes meet again, and he sees that she, too, is taken by the moment, and he can catch a glimpse of a shiny tear in her eyelashes. He swallows hard.

“Do take care”, he mumbles, and quickly touches her hand again.

He feels the looks from the other couple, knowing that they have already understood what is going on. Then he takes a step back, folds his hands behind his back and gives the driver a short nod.

“That is everyone”, he says shortly.

“Off we go, then”, the driver says, and climbs into his seat up front.

The engine coughs and grumbles, before with a roar it sets the heavy lorry in motion, and it struggles painstakingly through the muddy field, before gaining speed. It turns to the left when it reaches the road, and the last glimpse of her bright hair through the tarpaulin is gone.

Dwight looks down in his hand, and with trembling fingers he unfolds the note that she has given him. It is her address, one that soon he will have learnt by heart. He lets his thumb slowly glide over the thin, black letters, shaped so beautifully by her perfect hand, and sees them turn blurred as his eyes well up with tears.

 

Caroline is shaking at her seat on the hard and uncomfortable bench in the lorry. She is staring out through the gap in the tarpaulin, blinking excessively to keep her tears from spilling. Her hands are folded in her lap, and she is biting her jaw. Outside, the sky is dark grey, and the road is surrounded by a forest of high fir trees, leaving almost no light at all to reach them. Men lying on the floor of the lorry are groaning, and she ought to try to see if there is anything she can do to help them, but she can’t, not quite yet. She has to get a hold of her heart, first, and make it come to peace within her. But the thought of being parted from him for such a long time is beyond words, and her emotions are wilder than a storm.

Suddenly, she feels a gentle touch on her knee. Demelza is leaning towards her, looking at her with a troubled expression.

“How are you, luv?” she asks quietly.

The compassion almost makes it worse, and Caroline sobs heavily before composing herself again.

“Thank you”, she mumbles. ”I’ll be all right.”

She runs a finger under her nose and swallows, then touches the corners of her eyes to wipe away the traitor tears.

“You can travel together with us all the way back to Cornwall, if you like”, Demelza says. “We will stay in touch. And…”, she looks around and leans in even closer, giving Caroline a look of secrecy and mutual understanding, “he will come find you, you know. He will.


	8. A Bar of Soap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight comes home from the war.

The train is huffing and puffing its way through the lush landscape of the English countryside. Dwight holds a book open in his lap, but his eyes keep wandering out through the window, besotted by the light of the green trees and bushes, the cottages and the open fields, the abundance of flowers in mild colours. All of it seems to smile at him, and he smiles back, unknowingly. “Spring time, in spring time, the only pretty ring-time”, echoes in his head. The book about new research on medicine is interesting, but it can’t compete with the song in his heart.

A few months, he had told her. And now, seven months have passed, much more than he had hoped it would be. Peace was declared in November; now it is May, and although the peace treaty has not yet been signed, and the world is still holding its breath awaiting the peace conditions, spring doesn’t seem to care about the doings of humans – it comes anyway. And so does love.

May I write to you, he had asked, and he had planned to write her two letters a week. That would be a proper way to go about it, he had thought, affectionate but not intrusive. And so, she had left, her blonde hair swaying in the gap of the lorry tarpaulin for a short minute, then gone, away, out of sight, and his heart had at once fallen into a pit of loneliness. Writing to her became his only connection to hope, to the world outside, and to the future that he had dreamt of for so long but that still suddenly seemed endlessly far away again. 

The first thing he did after she left, was to go back to his quarters, take out a paper and start writing to her. He wanted the letter to reach her as soon as she came home, perhaps even to be waiting for her. _She must not forget about me!_ It was a short letter, telling her about his emotions on seeing her leave, and his wish to follow her, his urge to run across the field and climb into the lorry and go with her, to be with her forever.

Then, the same evening, as he finally got into bed after a long day – feeling in his whole body the lack of her presence, how he missed those moments of secret kisses behind the storage tent already – he found a letter under his pillow. He shivered as he unfolded it, and fumbled with the kerosene lamp to be able to read it at once, unable to stretch his patience until the light of morning. He had no idea when she had found the time to sneak into his tent and hide it here, but the fact that she had, gave him a warmth of happiness. Her note was brief, too, conveying not much more than the words they had whispered on the night before her departure, talking of love and wishes for the future, and a written invitation to visit her as soon as he could.

In the same spirit he had gotten up the following morning, starting a new letter even before he had dressed, and so it happened that he sent off two letters to her on the same day.

And it continued like that. Two letters a week turned out to be not near enough, no, two a day was more like it. There were always so many things that he wanted to share with her. After a month, the first letter from Caroline reached him, and he tore the envelope open with trembling hands, reading her message with a restlessness as if he was searching for something in it, an answer of some kind, but their conversation turned out to be a circle in many layers – answering each other’s questions weeks after they were put into words, and adding on new ones that could not be answered with the next letter but with one much later, and so on. It was like a merry-go-round, twirling them and tossing with their emotions, and it was pain and pleasure in equal measure.

After a while, the men could start going into the little town nearby, and it brought some change to their daily routine, as well as a sense of life going back to normality. Everything was still quiet, and not much goods were to be had, but a little shop had opened again, and Dwight could buy new paper, stamps and ink. And one more thing. There was the scent in this little country shop, that he noticed as soon as he entered, and it made his heart leap. In a dark corner of the shop, he found a basket of soap bars spreading the loveliest fragrance of rose water. He picked one up and brought it to his nose, inhaling as if it were a sacred thing. The sweet scent immediately brought her to his senses; her soft hair, her plump lips, the skin of her neck, and he almost sobbed for joy and yearning. He couldn’t put the bar down, so instead he picked up yet one more, and bought two pieces. One, he sent her as a gift, and the other, he kept to himself, wrapped in a piece of paper. It became his company, lying on his desk as he wrote to her in the evenings, and he brought it to his nose in a little bedtime ritual of his own when he was finished, as if he were kissing her good night. It was ridiculous, but it gave him comfort.

 

Now, the soap bar is lying in its brown paper in his suitcase. He will give it to her when they meet, and it will be his way of closing the gap in time between them. 

The book in his lap, with all its marvels of human understanding, has a hard time competing with his anticipation for his attention. What will it be like to see her again? How will she look, and what will she wear? He has never seen her in anything but the nurses uniform. Will she appear the lofty heiress and make him feel completely useless? Will she have changed her mind? No, he knows from her letters that she hasn’t. But he also knows that her Uncle is expecting her to marry well, and that she still has not told him about Dwight. And on the surface of his heart, a butterfly of fear is fluttering its wings, the fear that what was true and everlasting during those extraordinary hours and days, in another time and another country, will turn out to be ill-matched and disappointing in the real world of everyday life together. 

But the world outside is not worried – it is exultant, and it talks to his soul about other things; about life, about new opportunities when the old ones are gone, about a warmth that melts that which has been frozen, about secret flowers growing in unexpected places, just waiting to be discovered – and it fills him with a new hope. When the breaks are finally squeaking as the train approaches the Truro station, he jumps out of his seat and feverishly scrambles his belongings together, leaping on to the platform like a child. 

 

Caroline sees him come strolling along the platform, her eyes squinting against the sun and the emotions. It is dangerous and harmful to let too much of either of them in. His figure, not much more than a moving shadow against the background of the train, is exactly as she remembers him, and yet, she at once realises, she had forgotten. She has thought that she has remembered all of him in every detail, but merely this tiny glimpse of the reality of him makes her aware of the fact that Memory is not a trustworthy companion. It keeps some things, and tune them up, and slowly and without her noticing it, hides other things away, so that after a while, the image of him in her mind is telling more of _her_ than it tells about _him_. 

Seven months have seemed a lifetime to her, and yet, now that he is here – as she is watching him moving with quick, light steps along the platform, having not yet spotted her where she is standing out in the street opposite the station building – they are gone, and seem as far away as the dream you have dreamt in the night after waking up. 

They have been strange, these months, a mix of two different lives, of two different Carolines, and at this very moment the two are fighting for her soul, giving her nausea and making her feel dizzy. The letters have been many, and they have brought both tears and laughter to her, and so many questions, things she wanted to ask him about what he has told her. Things she wanted to know about him. He has been very open to her, has written to her about that old love story that turned out so terribly, and it has given her food for thought for a long time. He is, obviously, more than what she has seen of him; he, too, has depths of unknown metals, and it will take a lifetime to excavate those depths. It oughtn’t surprise her, of course, for she too knows a bit about the difference between depths and shallows, and how to disguise that which is not for anyone to be seen. But he managed to reach her with her shield down, and in his letters, he has been utterly honest to her, too, not trying to disguise or better the truth about himself. 

She has tried to remember how it felt to kiss him, and she has imagined it every day. But still, the memory has withered, slowly but unmistakably. She has tried to occupy herself with all kinds of things to keep herself from too much thinking. There has been no more volunteer nursing for her, but she has committed to other duties. Being a driver, she has helped out with transportation of goods and people, and she has engaged in the local community’s activities for the home coming soldiers, as well as the fundraising for a memorial to be built in Truro. Her Uncle has not been well, and so she has spent time with him, reading to him, talking to him, listening to the radio together with him. She has doted on Horace to the extent that he has become even fatter than before. 

And she has visited her new friends, the Poldarks. They had married as soon as they got back home, and Demelza is already with child. Caroline has gone over at least once every week, sitting a while around the table with them, chatting, supping, sharing memories and telling stories. The friendship that has unfolded is warm and easy, giving her someone to share her experiences with, and it has helped her to hold on to Dwight, and not find all that happened a far-off dream.

Now, here she is, leaning against the hood of her red sports car, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. He disappears from her sight when he enters the station building, and a minute later he appears again in the door. She is strategically placed to be the first thing to catch his eye, and not only his, but pretty much everybody else’s too. She knows it, and she lifts her chin. _Just look!_

Now, he sees her, he is looking straight at her, and her heart is moving strangely in her chest. Their eyes lock, and with firm steps he crosses the street, coming right up to her.

Dwight feels nothing of the wild pulse that is pumping within him, he knows not how his feet move, he does not look to the sides when crossing the street. Nothing else exists to him in this very moment, except her. Seeing her touches all his emotions at once, and he is overwhelmed, yet focused.

 _A red sports car, well, of course!_ He knew that she could drive, but she hadn’t told him about the sports car. If he weren’t so focused on her lips, he would smile at it, just because it is to typical for the Caroline he has learnt to know and love. She is stunning, in a red jacket and a pair of beige trousers. _Trousers, indeed!_ She truly is a rebel, but he loves her more for every detail of her that confirms her character to him.

The sun is glistening in her hair, and she is holding a brown leather cap in her hands, the kind you wear when driving. All the impressions rush towards him like an ocean in uproar, and he paves his way through them like a tanker through the waves, targeting her mouth. 

His way of moving, so focused, so eagerly – she recognises it and loves it. He puts downs his suitcase on the ground beside him, without speaking a single word. And so, _oh, finally_ , their lips meet, hungrily, and no words are needed. His fingers lightly touch her cheek, the scent of her hair makes him shiver, the soft hair on his temples gives her a jolt of tenderness.

He is passionate, but she withdraws.

“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused”, she says. “It has been so long.”

He controls himself, knowing that he has to be patient not to scare her away, yet frustrated that he cannot satisfy his thirst. 

He puts his suitcase in the trunk, Caroline hands him a leather cap and a pair of goggles, and they are off. The sun on their heads, the glimpse of blonde hair escaping from under her cap, the thrill in his body of the mere speed of this amazing vehicle, and then, when they have left the town behind them and reached the open fields, the salty sea breeze, and the view of the ocean far beneath the cliffs.

Suddenly, she stops, in the middle of the road, and turns towards him with a mischievous smile.

“Do you drive?” she asks.

Dwight shakes his head a little.

“I know how to do it, but I haven’t done it a lot”, he says. “And never an automobile like this one.”

“Then you must try!” she says, and jumps out.

Dwight inhales, and moves over to the driver’s seat, while Caroline walks around and enters on the passenger side. She shows him what to do, and fumbling with the sticks and the gears and the pedals, he manages to make the machine move forward. Caroline laughs, her most joyful, glittering laughter, and Dwight chimes in, carefully pushing the pedal harder and speeding up, riding along the straight road, the meadows around them decorated with purple thrift and red poppies. 

After a while, he lets the car come to a halt and turns to her, his smile growing deeper. 

“I think my heart will stop for all the beauty around me”, he says. “It is too much, I can’t bear it.”

She smiles.

“It is a lovely place”, she agrees, “and especially this time of year with all the flowers.”

Dwight touches her cheek.

“Oh, are there flowers here? I didn’t notice.”

 

Caroline is driving again as they roll in through the gates of Killewarren. Dwight feels his eyes growing larger and larger, as he realises the very material truth of Caroline’s wealth. He feels as if he is shrinking, in front of this enormous, dark building, with all its walls and turrets. It seems to be inhabited by history in every nook. But Caroline jumps out of the automobile with a happy leap, and pulls his arm.

“Don’t be afraid, Dwight”, she says. “It’s just an old house, you know. It’s actually nothing more than a pile of stones, really. And Uncle Ray so wants to meet you.”

Dwight climbs out of his seat, stretches his legs a bit and catches her hand, quickly bringing it to his lips. 

“Does he even know that I exist?” he asks. 

She nods and smiles secretively.

“I have told him, now. And I also said, that perhaps you could prescribe something for his illness. He has diabetes, remember.”

“So, you don’t think he will hate me?”

“No, I think he will love you”, she says softly. “Just as I do.”

She lifts her face to him, and he closes the gap between them. Finally, he gets to kiss her again, a little deeper this time, and the thrill of the ride in her sports car is exceeded by lightyears. Her sweet fragrance of rosewater reminds him of the soap bar in his suitcase, and he turns to it and picks it out.

“I have brought you something”, he says.

Caroline giggles as she unwraps the bar of soap, and Dwight smiles.

“Do you remember that I wrote to you, that I was sniffing this every evening before I went to sleep?” 

She nods, and quickly touches his cheek.

“I do”, she says. “This is the other one, the one you didn’t send to me.”

“It is. But now, it, too, is yours.”

“Thank you”, she says, smiling faintly.

“It’s not much of a gift, I know”, Dwight continues, suddenly abashed at his own folly.

But he is quieted with yet another lovely kiss.

“It is the best gift I have ever been given”, she says. “Not the most expensive one, or the fanciest, but still, the most valuable to me. I will keep it forever.”

Then she pulls her leather cap off, granting her yellow curls their freedom, and they dance around her head like a laughing sunshine. Dwight’s heart dances with them, and the butterfly of fear in his heart lifts its wings and flies away forever.

“Now”, Caroline says, “let’s go in.”


End file.
